I had no time to ponder it—the creature was coming at me and I scrambled up and back, firing at it, feet skimming across the floor. The pitch blackness of the rest of the cavern didn’t bode well for the possibility of more of them in there, but I forced myself not to think on it, to focus on the one I could see. Because if there were more, they’d eat me soon and there was nothing to be done about it.
Blood flew as the creature ran, crimson spraying across the floor, and its mouth was open wide, strong jaws ready to snap my bones. Its horrid nails clicked and scratched, and I swore I’d hear that noise every time I tried to sleep from then on.
My left foot stepped back, struck something, and even as I tried to right myself I went down. I landed hard on my ass, falling back onto my thankfully-padded elbows, legs slightly raised over what had tripped me—it was the body of the guy killed before he could follow Laurel. Dead eyes were open and stared at the ceiling and his head was partially removed, hanging from stringy bits with a flash of a white spine.
I looked up again and the beast was gone.
Dread rose and clawed down my back. My throat went dry, swallowing doing no good to ease the terror from it. I squeezed my guns and silently crept to my feet, gaze shooting around the space, listening for anything that might indicate where it went. Dirt scraped against limestone under my thick boot treads, echoing in the silence.
Three seconds later, it collided with me from behind.
The guns left my grasp as I hit the ground, sliding across the limestone away as the hulking mass of several hundred pounds knocked me. My chin slammed against the floor, blood blooming across my tongue from my lip. I twisted, struggled, reached for the knife at my belt and realized it had been left behind when we were attacked previously.
Fangs angled dangerously near my head and I dodged, banged my temple against the rough scale of its skin, but its incisors sank down into the dirt just inches away. I wiggled, shifting under the creature, pulling myself down away from its mouth, hoping to escape past its lower body.
A foot sank down on my left thigh and I howled in pain, its weight grinding my bones together mercilessly. I punched, fought—nothing moved it, nothing drew it off of me, but I felt its body twist, likely to attack. Pain was spiking through my thigh, burning with agony, and claws dug in to prick my skin until something wet and hot slithered down my leg. I tipped my head back, looked for my guns, couldn’t see a damn fucking thing—
The creature over me grunted as something crashed into it and tipped it to the side, slamming it into the ground hard enough that rock vibrated against my back. As it rolled, I scrambled, not looking back or worrying about who attacked; my gaze scanned the ground until it settled on my guns, one four feet away, the other seven steps to the left.
Blood seeped from my leg, messing with my traction as it coated the ground. I tried to walk but failed, scrambling up and forward instead, pushing on until I latched onto my first gun and then the second. I stood, spun, swinging the weapons around, trying to point in every direction at once, but there was no sign of the creature or what hit it.
The rope swayed silently in the pool of white light in the center of the room and I eased in that direction, swinging around after every cautious step in case something followed. Hot pain zigzagged up and down my thigh but my leg successfully held my weight. No voices called down to me, and I hadn’t a clue if Laurel made it up there or not—at least I didn’t see her body.
The direct light from above struck me as I stepped under the pitch. Fresh chunks of limestone and dust crunched and ground under my boots. My gaze gave the room another sweep.
Steps thundered and a hiss sounded; I did a one-eighty, swinging to fire at the reptilian lunging for me. It hit the light, gaping mouth stretching wide, tongue whipping out. I darted back, preparing for it to tackle me again, when it gave a hiss and was hauled back into the darkness.
Something howled and screamed across the cavern, and though I narrowed my eyes, I couldn’t make anything out. My grip tightened on the guns, fingers twitching and wanting to squeeze the triggers. Red cut across the ground from the darkness, blood arcing and splattering.
A growl sounded, rolling straight into my bones, and my entire body tensed. Footfalls padded on limestone, slow, steady. My breath held, pulse throbbing in my temples, and I kept the barrels of my Match pistols raised.
The edge of a paw hit the circle of light first, stepping from the shadows—a massive paw, white but for streaks of blood across the fur. My gaze traveled up, up, as it continued out of the dark and the head came into view. It was enormous, white fur framed with black stripes, ears twitching as if listening, predatory eyes watching me.
A goddamn tiger.
Great.
15
Eye of the Tiger
The distance between the tiger and me did nothing to diminish its size, shoulders at least putting it as high as my waist. No other sound permeated space, just its steps and my own fearful panting.
I shifted, my feet feeling their way backward as I couldn’t pull my eyes from the new beast to look where I was going. My guns lowered, coming close together to deliver a double headshot.
The tiger stalked forward more boldly, pushing me to retreat faster.
My fingers tightened on the triggers.
The light covered half its body now and it suddenly slumped, a partial step all it managed before collapsing. Moments later blood trickled from its side, snaking over the limestone; whatever happened in that tussle, it resulted in Momma Reptilian gone, yes, but the tiger injured. Its breathing was labored and despite another attempt to drag itself forward, it thumped on the ground.
“Ms. Talbot?” Laurel’s voice echoed down, falling into a squeak at the end.
I kept my guns aimed on the tiger but glanced back at the rope. I could be up and out in an instant.
My gaze returned to the big cat, meeting its eyes that drifted heavily closed for a moment before struggling open again.
Blue eyes.
Very, very blue.
I took a deep breath then lowered my guns inch by inch, bracing in case it was baiting me—no matter how illogical it seemed. When the tiger didn’t move, I eased my weapons into their holsters.
My thigh bled still but even as adrenaline wore off, I could still put weight on it—nothing broken. I eyed the pitch again, then the weakening tiger that had come to my rescue.
“Ms. Talbot?” Laurel whispered.
I sighed. “Do they have another stretcher?”
Silence followed, punctuated a moment later by feet scraping on stone above, as if she had to see the others for confirmation. “No.”
Damn it. “Harnesses, then? Belts?”
A few minutes later, a pile of thick nylon and leather struck the ground beneath the pitch.
I slipped off my own belt and gun harness, stuffed the guns, extra mags, and other items in my pack until I could barely get the zipper closed, then carted everything over to the big cat. I tensed as I knelt next to it, waiting for a swipe or an incisor in my jugular, but it never came. Instead the tiger watched me, heaving great breaths that shook its torso. The gashes on its side weren’t just red with blood but white with something bubbling—maybe the reptile fangs were more snakish and poisonous after all.
It might be foolish to take it with me—might be one of the stupidest things I’d ever done. But I believed strongly in trusting my instincts, and if I left it—him—down here, I knew I’d probably regret it.
I took the mess of harnesses, untwisting them and then attaching clips, fashioning them into something that could hopefully hold however many hundreds of pounds the tiger was. His eyes had drifted closed by the time I was working his hulking body into the contraption though he continued breathing and wheezing. It fell to me to grasp the nylon cutting over his torso and haul the creature several feet toward the pitch, and after a few minutes, it was clearly not happening.
I let out a frustrated sigh and looked back into the light. “Would you
be a dear and throw down more rope?”
❇
The initial pitch was lit by floodlights, not daylight. Not far from the first one was a second, and above it, the crisp night air filled my lungs. It wasn’t until I had both feet on the earth that I let myself breathe and accept I was safe.
From monsters, at least.
I was left with Laurel and another man I didn’t recognize from West’s team—black fatigues, olive complexion with a long crooked nose and dark, deep-set eyes. I wasn’t given a name and didn’t ask for one. Neither he nor Laurel commented on the fact that I dragged a huge tiger out of the cavern with me, which raised more than a few red flags since tigers aren’t native to the continent nor am I prone to carting one around in my spare time, but I said nothing. The other team members had gone ahead with Brandon, including Mr. Rolph, Tucker, and Moti, and it was another ten minutes before Curtis returned with the Jeep for the rest of us.
She swung the roofless Jeep around, spitting up stones and dirt under the spinning tires, and threw on the brakes. Lights shone and the vehicle hummed while it idled with the keys in the ignition and she hopped out. Her confident steps halted three feet from the tiger, where she gaped at it. “What the fuck?”
“It’s my new pet,” I said with a sweet smile. “I’m thinking of calling him Buttons.”
Blue eyes flickered open to glare at me and a growl rumbled in the tiger’s throat.
I strongly suspected he would behave himself, though, and gestured at Curtis and the other man with us. “Do give me a hand, would you?”
We lifted the bazillion pound cat into the back of the Jeep, then all climbed in. Mr. No Name and Laurel rode in the back with it, while I took the passenger seat. Curtis didn’t speak during the trip, her red brows pulled into a tight frown and shoulders hunched—I imagined she was concerned about her coworkers. Or perhaps her own well-being if she was sent down next.
The Jeep parked a ways from camp again, leaving the three of us—Laurel didn’t help—to cart the tiger on foot. The mere thought of moving had my body aching but I hauled myself up and out of the vehicle, wincing with every step. Though bleeding had ceased in my leg, it started anew.
The harnesses I’d put together couldn’t’ve been comfortable but we had no other way of carrying the thing, so the three of us each grabbed at an angle and lifted. There was a gap of darkness between the Jeep and the camp, over a hill thick with underbrush and tall weeds. Dry plants scraped at my bare legs and arms, and I sincerely hoped the scent of blood didn’t draw anything particularly nasty our way.
Firelight glowing around large rectangular tents promised a sanctuary, and I almost sank to my knees in gratitude upon reaching it. I hadn’t time, however; Mr. Rolph stepped out as we approached, his hands raised with water on them glinting in the light, sleeves rolled up as if he’d just washed and waited for them to air dry. His gaze narrowed, expression unreadable.
“Do you also moonlight as a vet?” I asked innocently.
Our charge let out a throaty growl and twisted; the three of us dropped him on instinct. The beast fought to his feet, makeshift harness dangling. Fresh blood and something foamy-white oozed from his side but he lumbered on for a newer tent at the far end of the camp. Mr. Rolph didn’t say a word, retrieved a large white case with a red first aid cross emblazoned on the side from the tent he’d left, and followed the tiger.
Answers wouldn’t be given any time soon, apparently. I went straight for the water drum, refilled one of my canteens, and downed about half of it before filling it to the brim again.
Dawson padded over, eyeing the direction Mr. Rolph had gone. “What happened?”
I stood after turning off the spout, my back spasming. All my wounds flared to life and I groaned as I tried to shake them off. I clasped the cam still hanging from my ear and handed it to him. “It’s all there. I hope our employer enjoys.”
He glanced down at the camera in his big palm for a moment, then followed as I limped toward the fire. “Do you need help?”
I sure as hell hoped not—wounds I couldn’t treat myself tended to be debilitating ones. I eased to sit on the bench near the fire while he did the same, and peeled back the leg of my shorts until it was rolled high up on my thigh. A gash ran diagonally across my skin but it wasn’t as deep as I thought—didn’t require stitches. Plus there was far too much stubble on my legs—I really needed to shave.
“No, I’ll live, but I thank you.” I dumped water from my canteen over the wound, hissing as it made contact and pushed the blood away. The first aid kit was still in my pack, and I retrieved the box to dig out antiseptic. “Where is everyone?”
“Your guys were being patched up. Brandon looks bad.”
We couldn’t’ve been too near a hospital, either; perhaps they didn’t expect him to last the night so didn’t bother taking him. “The newbs?”
“Patrolling.”
“Moti?”
“Uh, not anymore. He ranted in at Mr. Rolph for about ten minutes straight, who said something back, and then just took off.”
Smart man. I swiped at the wound until it was clean, then wrapped it in gauze.
“So, um, is the tiger a ring? Was this some kind of trick question?”
My gaze narrowed on the other tent, where the flap was closed and I had no idea what was going on beyond. “The tiger is something else entirely. But I appreciate that you’re thinking outside the box.” I returned any remaining items to my kit and snapped the lid again.
I hurt. I was exhausted. I needed a shower, which we didn’t have access to. Probably more medical attention in case I had a concussion. And a very, very long chat with Ashford.
I rubbed at my eyes and yawned. “What day is it?”
“Uh...here or stateside?”
“Either. Both.”
He looked at his watch. “Wednesday night in Texas. Thursday morning here.”
This time zone thing was all kinds of messed up, but we’d been under ground for far too many days. “You can get an internet connection here?”
“Yeah...I’ve kinda got it boosted.”
“Would it be possible to use your laptop in a bit to speak to my daughter? There’s my phone but I’d like to see her a bit better.”
“Of course. I can do it right now—”
I waved him off and rose unsteadily. “First, I need to change. Then...” My gaze trailed to the tent with the cat. “I need to have a conversation with someone.”
16
Buttons
I stripped out of my torn and bloody clothes, wiped myself down with a towel soaked in canteen water, patched up the odd cut that needed it, then slipped on black yoga pants and another tank top.
I let my braid out, shaking it into wavy kinks. My fingers touched grease near the roots—I had some waterless shampoo in one of my bags, and I’d have to give it a thorough cleaning that night before it drove me mad. I slipped on a fleece coat with pockets next, where I stowed a reloaded gun. The weapon harness was still otherwise engaged, so this would have to do.
My feet were achy and blistered so I changed my socks and slipped on running shoes, letting my boots sit and dry out. Standing up after sitting on the end of the cot for a few minutes was just about the most difficult thing I’d done all day, including facing off against giant reptilian snake things, but I got my ass moving again, though stiffly.
Adrenaline had completely left me by this point and I felt everything anew: the aches and pains in my body, the chill night atmosphere, the pinch against my sore scalp as wind tossed my hair. The camp was silent, no sign of the patrolling team if they’d remained near. Dawson waved at me from his tech table and I waved back—I’d head over shortly to check in on Em and Prudence.
But first I strode for the tent Mr. Rolph had disappeared into. I wasn’t sure if he remained, but I paused at the closed flap and called, “Knock knock.”
Steps rustled inside and a moment later the flap opened, Mr. Rolph meeting me. Sweat beaded on his forehead,
dripping into his dark eyes behind thick glasses once again. His sleeves were still rolled up and he wore latex gloves coated in blood.
My heart beat harder even as I tried to smile sweetly. “How’s the patient?”
He glanced over his shoulder and from within a voice called, “It’s fine.”
Mr. Rolph sighed, stripped off his gloves, and shook his head. “You’re not going to listen to a word I said, are you?”
“Nope.”
Muttering under his breath, the resident medic left without a word to me and I slipped through the fabric doorway as he did.
Dale West was stretched out on a cot, a sheet up to his waist and chest bare above. A wound in his side was covered in gauze; he had other cuts and bruises but none as bad as what I assumed was under the bandage. Flesh was pulled tight over defined muscle, unnaturally pale except for inky black veins snaking through his skin around the large bandage—definitely venom after all. Bloody towels and a dish of pink-tinged water sat on the floor beside the bed.
Very blue eyes met mine, arresting despite the exhaustion edging them; his gaze pressed on me until I was nearly stepping out of the tent, ready to hightail it into the night.
He had my heartrate kicking up with just one look, exuding a sense of authority that sneaks up on a person, sliding behind you until it’s wrapped around your throat. I took a breath and moved for the tangle of harnesses and belts on the small table next to the cot, a lantern in the middle casting light on what was a total mess. West watched me like a predator on prey, unwavering and patient even as I avoided his gaze—his was a heavy look near palpable in the atmosphere. I unhooked nylon and leather pieces bit by bit to keep my trembling hands busy, weaving straps through the mess until I had part of my gun harness loose, and pointedly disregarded him.
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